SciFi and Fantasy Art: Death's word is final

Night...Peace...The Corvidian awoke gasping, the flood of air into his lungs seemed to pull him up out of the black pit that threatend to engulf him, like being pushed upwards out of a grave and into the light of consciousness. The attack that had occured only minutes ago had been brutal and swift, and that was all that he could remember of it.

...strange, why am I not feeling any pain?  What did they want, I didn't do anything wrong ...did I?  By Great  Brennos, do I feel strange, I shoud leave in case they come back.  

The Corvidian pulled himself to his feet, and prepared for flight, but something was wrong, he glanced around then froze in horror at the sight he beheld. Himself-but lying prone on the ground impaled with a large black sword. NO! he cried. This cannot be!

 "It is, and always shall be." A voice spoke upon the wind, and a shadow fell upon him. Alarmed he spun around to find himself in the presence of the Shadow Lord; the angel of death; the thing that had took his life and would take his soul. "Why?" he shrieked, "I had a life, it wasn't my time!

With a voice as ageless as the wind, the Shadow Lord replied. "The choice is not yours,"

Except for the sky and clouds and a little computer editing using paintshop pro , everything on it is handrawn.